


Caramel

by Katzedecimal



Series: Apres La Mort [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Feels, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 20:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's overjoyed to have Sherlock back and solving cases again, and is determined to make sure Sherlock knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caramel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pat_is_fannish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pat_is_fannish/gifts).



It was simple, really. It was one of those things. The first snow of the season was swirling down, had caught in their hair and stung their faces as they'd raced through the streets. 221b was cozy and warm, with a fire in the grate and the radiators clicking. Sherlock had been as brilliant as ever and John hadn't been too shabby either, taking Sherlock by surprise by spotting a relationship that even the detective had missed. Then Sherlock's astounding genius had flown down the new path and done the rest, sewing up the case neatly before Lestrade's band of Keystone Kops had even finished arguing about who was buying the tea. 

The snow was melting in their hair in the warmth of 221b. Sherlock had cast off his coat and scarf, standing silhouetted in front of the fire and John was watching him, his mad, brilliant partner, his incredible, beautiful genius who was his and his alone, nobody else wanted him, their loss was his gain and had he ever, _ever_ felt so happy? Any moment now, Sherlock would reach for his violin and it was all just too much for John. He reached for Sherlock, taking his hands and cupping his fingers. 

Sherlock turned his head slowly, looking at him with that slightly puzzled smile. Looking at John, in his cuddly jumper, smelling of wool and leather and the vanilla chai he'd just consumed, smelling of snow and wind and the rich sharp musk of a man who'd been running through the elements, following Sherlock on another mad chase through the battlefield that was London. And he knew, no violin tonight. John wished to play another instrument -- Sherlock. 

The bed was cold but warmed quickly with the heat of two unclothed bodies. John hadn't wasted any time, divesting them of their clothes with quick efficiency. Now he kissed and nibbled and touched, hugging and squeezing like a child who'd won a big plushie at the fair. He cupped Sherlock's jaw, took his face in his hands, stroked his thumbs along Sherlock's sharp cheekbones. Then he dipped his head to kiss Sherlock's lips, his chin, his nose, his eyebrows, to ruffle Sherlock's hairline with his lips, all the while giggling his endearing high-pitched giggle. "You are so beautiful, so magnificent. I'm so blessed to have you," he whispered. Sherlock looked baffled but pleased, like the time when John had laughed at 'welcome to London.' John giggled again, kissing along Sherlock's clavicle, "I used to think I was so ordinary, just another bloke on the street.. but I'm not, am I? I'm not, because I have you."

"You're not ordinary, John," Sherlock whispered, "It's not me that makes you extraordinary. You were always amazing. Your gifts are remarkable."

"So are yours," John replied, little kisses falling over Sherlock's shoulders like snowflakes. 

"The most remarkable gift I ever received was you." John smiled at that and pressed his mouth against the cupid's-bow lips. "You were on fire tonight, John," Sherlock said when he could, "I wouldn't have thought of that, I had no idea. You do that all the time, you know -- you find something that sends my thoughts in new directions. It's wonderful."

"So are you."

"Nobody has ever done that before." John giggled and clutched Sherlock tight, then rolled them over so that Sherlock sprawled on top of him. Giggles bubbled up through him and he kissed Sherlock's nose and eyes repeatedly. "I mean it, John."

"I know you do," John said softly. He reached up to stroke his fingertip down Sherlock's nose and along his eyebrows, then kissed him again. He squeezed Sherlock tightly then rolled with him again, putting the taller man underneath him now, and kissed along his throat. 

"...What are you doing, John?"

John looked up to see Sherlock looking slightly puzzled. "Loving on you. Is that alright?"

"Yes." He hesitated, "Do I.. need to do anything in particular?"

"Nope," John grinned, "You can do whatever you want to do. And if you don't want to, don't. Just stop me when it gets too tedious."

"It's never tedious with you, John."

John's smile widened, "Never?"

"Never. Because you let me stop before it can get tedious." Then John giggled and Sherlock snogged him until he moaned instead. 

He rained kisses over Sherlock's chest, pausing to catch a nipple in his lips and caress it with his tongue, making Sherlock sigh that sigh that was only heard when he was with John. He kissed his way down, counting each rib with his lips, noting how they were getting harder to find as Sherlock recovered from their forced separation. John sighed blissfully, pressing his face against the soft layer that had formed over his partner's hard abdomen. He kissed the soft flesh delicately, then pressed his lips and abruptly blew out, the sudden zerbert making Sherlock laugh. Then he lay his cheek against Sherlock's belly and smiled up at him adoringly, "I love it when you laugh."

Sherlock looked slightly embarrassed before admitting, "I share that sentiment. Your giggle is endearing."

John grinned - and giggled - then looked up again, eyes sparkling, "That's not what most people say."

Sherlock smiled back and repeated, "What do most people say?"

"'Dude, you sound really gay.'" Sherlock rolled his eyes and John burst out laughing, almost cackling, "Oh god! ... No, I'm not going to say it, it'll ruin everything if I say it."

"If you are about to say what I think you're going to say, don't say it."

"Nope, not saying it," John giggled then leaned up to kiss Sherlock's lips again. His hands continued to caress with firm strokes, pressing and kneading his partner's muscles as he nuzzled Sherlock's throat. "Do you want an orgasm?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Not especially."

"Okay, then," John smiled, working his way back down. He kissed the lengths of Sherlock's thighs then nuzzled between them to kiss and lick what he found there. He heard Sherlock sigh again and glanced up to see his lover, eyes closed, with what John thought of as his 'caramel' expression - relaxed, with the delicate smile, so soft and sweet it made John melt. His brows were drawn just slightly, focusing on the sensations John was giving him and John felt a warm glow. He went back to what he was doing, enjoying the taste and texture of his lover, until he felt Sherlock's arm move. Then he kissed his way back up to Sherlock's belly and returned his contented smile. 

It was a source of wonder to Sherlock, that John had learned when he was close to giving their 'stop now' signal, so that he seldom actually needed to. That was the wonder of John Watson, that he had turned sex from something that was boring, frustrating and physically irritating, into something that Sherlock could appreciate. "What about you?"

John shrugged and smiled, "Haven't decided yet."

"No?"

"I wanted to love on you," John said blissfully, his eyes shining with devotion, "You mean so much to me. I wanted to make that absolutely clear to you. I wanted to shower you in so much love, there could be no doubt in that magnificent mind of yours about how happy I am with you." 

And there it was, that look. The look John had never seen, before that morning on the train out of Oslo. The look that seemed a mixture of disbelief, incredulity and a host of other things, and was followed by a snog that made John see stars. "What does it mean, when you look at me like that?" John whispered, before the snog came, "What's going through your mind?"

Sherlock shook his head slowly, silent and bewildered. "No one's ever said the things that you say, John," he whispered finally, "People think I'm.. _wrong._ " He lifted his eyes and John saw the heart of him reflected in the ice blue swirls, "I don't understand why you...." He trailed off, unable to find the words. 

"Why I love you?" John finished. He reached up to cup his partner's head, threading his fingers into his curls, and smiled tenderly, "There's nothing wrong with you, Sherlock. You're different and some people think that anybody who isn't just like them is 'wrong', but I don't think like that. I think you're amazing, but nobody is perfect. You're disorganised but Mary's old kanban board is helping with that, and finding weird experiments in the fridge is a tiny price to pay for the comfort of hearing your violin when I've had a nightmare. I know, people ask me why I put up with you; they just can't see your compassion, they can't see what you give back and I can't explain. I won't even try, because... because anybody who thinks you're 'wrong' just wouldn't understand." Then he kissed Sherlock until both of them saw stars.


End file.
